


The Reluctant Heir

by a_t_rain



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12859881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_t_rain/pseuds/a_t_rain
Summary: Pierre Vorrutyer leaves the countship to his cousin By -- if he can be persuaded to take it.





	The Reluctant Heir

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [biichan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biichan/pseuds/biichan) in the [Bujold_Ficathon_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bujold_Ficathon_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
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> AU. Thanks to Count's Choice and Pierre hating Richars just enough to pin his hopes on the wastrel layabout of the family, Byerly Vorrutyer is the new count, just in time for the Emperor's Wedding. ~~Inspired by reading the comment section of a Vorrutyer family fic.~~
> 
> First of all, massive apologies for taking well over a year to fulfill this prompt; and also for not getting anywhere near the Emperor's wedding. (I might get there, if I write any more stories in this universe. Which I don't promise -- I have some notion of how things might unfold from here, but it's of the "huge massive AU" variety, and I'm not sure I have the time. Anyway, this first part worked as a reasonably compact standalone, and it was way overdue, so I figured I should post it.)
> 
> Like the prompt itself, this was inspired or at least informed by several comments to my previous Vorrutyer family fics. Thanks to everyone who provided inspiration!

“Count Vorrutyer’s here again, sir,” announced Lucas Haroche.

“Tell him ImpSec is not a private detective service,” said Simon Illyan. “Again.”

“I did. Only … he requested a confidential background check and assessment of the character of his cousin.”

“As usual.”

“Except – this time it’s a different cousin.”

“Ah.”

“I thought you ought to be informed.”

“Quite.” Illyan considered this new development for a moment, and then made a snap decision. “As we _do_ happen to have that information on file, perhaps we ought to share some of it with him. To the extent that we can do so without compromising the identity of an operative.”

“But, sir.” Haroche sounded slightly distressed, as he always did when his chief suggested something that wasn’t precisely by the book. “He has already been informed that ImpSec is not a private detective service.”

“Yes. On many occasions. It doesn’t appear to have sunk in. Maybe if we _do_ give him a little of what he wants, he’ll go away and leave us alone.”

* * *

One year later, Illyan remembered nothing whatsoever about the meeting that followed. Haroche was in prison. Count Vorrutyer was dead.

* * *

“Good light,” said Emile Vormirren, and giggled. “I mean –” he waved a limp hand at the thin grey light in the east – “good moron – whatever.”

“Good moron to you,” agreed his companion, Byerly Vorrutyer, “good moron to me. We’re all good morons here.”

Vormirren giggled some more. Along with aphasia, inordinate amusement was one of the effects of his drug of choice, ANG-13206, known on the street as _angie_. Byerly hadn’t indulged since he was very young and very dumb, since one of the other effects was sudden cardiac arrest.

When they reached Vormirren’s apartment block, he shoved Emile into the lift-tube and pressed the button for his floor, and then ducked out. There were two plainclothes regulars stationed outside the building, and they could take over from there.

Vormirren was, in fact, a moron, although not a particularly good one. The government ministry where he worked suspected him of leaking classified documents to finance his drug habit. Byerly was fairly sure he was guilty, based on his angie-fueled ramblings, and equally sure the young fool had no idea of the gravity of what he was doing.

He pulled up his scarf – the springtime dawn was chilly – and walked to his own flat, half-asleep on his feet by the time he got there. Home. A refuge from all that. He fed the cat, who kept twining about his ankles, and stumbled into bed.

The next thing he knew, he was awakened by footsteps in the hallway. _Someone in the flat_ , he realized, and reached instinctively for his stunner.

 _Two_ someones in the flat. The other invader was someone with toenails that clicked – someone who said _wuff!_

By dropped the stunner as an enormous mass of fur and muscle jumped into bed with him. “Hi, Max,” he said, with resignation. About a year earlier, his cousin Donna had acquired a puppy with suspiciously large paws; it had grown _and_ grown, and was now roughly the size of a small horse. Donna was one of the few other people who had a key to his flat and was welcome to drop in without warning, although that didn’t really explain what she was doing here at – ye gods – _eight-fifteen in the morning_.

“Why do you sleep with a stunner?” she asked.

“Safety precaution – this isn’t the best neighborhood – _Down_ , Max! I’ll have my bath later, all right?”

Max didn’t get down and he didn’t stop licking. Byerly wriggled out from under him. “Isn’t this a trifle early in the morning for a social call?” he asked.

“This isn’t a social call,” said Donna. Her voice was oddly quiet. “By – Pierre’s dead. Armsman Szabo found him this morning.”

“What?” said By, in blank amazement for a moment, and then, “Oh, Donna, I am so sorry.” He hadn’t been at all close to his cousin the Count, who had rather disapproved of his lifestyle, but he knew Donna had been.

“It’s … all right,” said Donna. She sounded distant, as if it were all still a little unreal to her. She wasn’t crying, although she looked as if she might have been, earlier. “It isn’t as bad as I thought. Except … I’m not sure you’re going to like it. You see – you’re his heir.”

“He’s left me something?” By was a little surprised, although he didn’t quite see why Donna looked flat-out astonished. “Huh. I didn’t think he even liked me.”

“He’s left you the _District_.”

“Good God,” said By, who had few fond memories of the District, “talk about a white elephant – Wait. What? Can he even _do_ that?”

“Yes, he can,” said Donna, “it’s called Count’s Choice, and it’s legally binding. He made a proper will and everything. I’m as shocked as you are, but Szabo knew about it. He was one of the witnesses.”

“And – and if I don’t take it, it goes to _Richars_ , doesn’t it?” He felt wide awake, suddenly, as the full implications of this hit him. “Shit.”

“Over my dead body will it go to Richars,” said Donna. “Before I knew about the will – I had a plan. I was going to file a motion of impediment, duck over to Beta Colony, and return as Pierre’s younger brother.”

He blinked. “Masquerade?”

“Surgery. They’re very good at it. You can even father children, afterward.”

Byerly laughed. “ _That_ would be brilliant. I’d love to see their faces in the Council – Oh God. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious. I _will_ do it if you don’t take it.”

By felt slightly dazed as this sunk in. “I think … I think maybe you had better. I can’t see me as a Count. Honestly, can _you_ see me as a Count?” It came to him that Donna had been the de facto Count, in everything except voting in the Council, for at least five years. “The Council of Counts is full of people who are elderly, boring, and unfashionable, and while I admit one cannot help getting older, I _refuse_ ever to be boring or unfashionable.”

“I’m sure that part isn’t a job requirement,” said Donna.

“Also, I’ve slept with some of the Counts. Before they were old and boring. It would be _awkward_.”

“So have I,” said Donna, “and I wasn’t about to let that stop me.” Curiosity got the better of her. “How many?”

“Two.”

“Four. I win.”

“Only by one. It doesn’t count if you were married to each other at the time.”

Donna looked him over with an uncharacteristically contemplative expression. “You’re right, I don’t know that I can see you as a Count. But apparently – Pierre _could_.”

“Pierre could also see imaginary military police warning him about mind control rays from space, I have to point out.”

Donna bit her lip, and By instantly regretted pointing it out. Pierre’s sanity, or lack thereof, was a sensitive topic. “Tell you what. I’ve got an appointment with my attorney in an hour, and I think you probably ought to be there, so get up and get dressed. After that – and after I’ve figured out the funeral arrangements – I’m going out to the District for three days. I want you to come with me. If you still don’t want it, fine, back to Plan Beta. But I want you to at least _see_ the place.”

* * *

The meeting with Natalia was not particularly encouraging, from Donna’s point of view. “If I don’t take it,” said By,” what happens to it?”

“It would automatically pass to your cousin Richars, as the nearest and most senior male-line relative of the late Count.”

Byerly didn’t look quite as appalled as _Donna_ felt at the prospect of Count Richars, but at least he seemed to recognize that this would be a very bad idea. “What if I took it and then abdicated?”

“In that case, it would pass to _your_ nearest living male-line relative.” Natalia consulted the Vorrutyer family tree. “Unusually, that would appear to be your father.”

“Well,” said By, “that would be one way to make sure I didn’t have to worry about inheriting it _back_ … But doesn’t this Count’s Choice thing mean I could designate someone else my heir?”

“Of course you can, but he wouldn’t inherit the District from you unless you actually _died_ instead of abdicating. You don’t get to abdicate _and_ hand-pick your successor; it’s one or the other.”

“That doesn’t seem very fair.”

“It seems prudent,” said Natalia, “when you consider that Barrayaran law was made by people who thought _King Lear_ was a documentary.”

Donna wondered which way By would jump if he had to decide whether his father or Richars was the lesser of two evils. She devoutly hoped he would pick his father, but she was not at all sure. 

“Well, is it possible for a Count to designate someone else to do all of the actual … counting?” 

“To some extent,” said Natalia, “with restrictions. For example, in the case of Council votes, you can designate a proxy, but the proxy has to be Vor-caste and male.”

Donna had already been all too aware of this limitation. Pierre had mostly let her take charge of the management of the District – much to the District’s benefit – but when it came to voting, he had insisted on taking his cues from the Conservative party leadership, rather than from his devoted sister. The devoted sister had dutifully confined herself to making sure that Pierre got out of bed, got dressed, and showed up to the Council sessions on time – except on mornings when the Council was voting on certain questions having to do with women’s rights, when Pierre had a tendency to be late or absent.

She had only the dimmest notion of By’s politics, since he claimed not to have any – but perhaps that was as well. He might, she thought, be more amenable to her influence than Pierre had been, if only he could be persuaded to take the job.

* * *

“But you must see that it’s impossible,” said Byerly positively. Donna was busy talking with the funeral director over the comconsole, and he’d taken advantage of the opportunity to call on Lady Alys. “There aren’t any Counts in _ImpSec_. Are there?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” said Lady Alys. Right; of course she couldn’t.

“Well, there aren’t any Counts doing _this_ kind of ImpSec work, anyway. And this is what I _do_. It’s my job. And I’m good at it. You know that.”

“You may find that you’re good at more than one thing,” said Lady Alys, who seemed to be taking the news with a placidity that By did not find reassuring. “And, as I think I have told you before, you are not irreplaceable.”

She had, on many occasions. Sometimes it was a rebuke – _if you pull another stunt like that, we can fire you_ – but more often, it was in the nature of permission: _yes, you can have some time off; no, you needn’t take that assignment if you don’t want to_. He found that he’d been looking to her for permission to refuse the countship, and it annoyed him that she seemed to be holding it back.

“At any rate, I suggest that you visit the District with your cousin and see what you think of the prospect before you write it off entirely. We can certainly spare you for a few days. It might be better, anyway, if Vormirren does not recall spending time with you immediately before his arrest.”

All of this was sensible advice, and he couldn’t fault her for not responding to what he _hadn’t_ said: the thought of going back to the District made him feel panicked, like a swimmer caught in an undertow. The place was like dear old Da writ large: mean, narrow-minded, deeply conservative. He hadn’t _fit_ there, growing up, and he didn’t belong there now.

* * *

On the two-hour journey west, Donna contemplated her dissolute cousin, who had tucked his knees up and fallen asleep as soon as their flight took off. She had seen little of By these last few years, since she had been busy with District affairs. The last time had been a few months earlier, when Pierre, in an uncharacteristic fit of sociability that now seemed _significant_ , had invited him to dinner at the town house. The meal had not seemed to be a particular success, despite Donna’s best efforts. Pierre had been too nervous to make more than the most stilted conversation, and By had been visibly bored. And yet – apparently Pierre had seen _something_.

She didn’t think Pierre had been wrong. Byerly had brains and ability, and – although hardly anyone ever recognized it – his own brand of courage.

And he’d squandered it all, but a part of her couldn’t blame him. Stupid, _stupid_ culture, that told boys that no way of life other than military service had any value or meaning. Why bother studying law or acting or any of the many other things that By might have been good at, if your world regarded it all as worthless? No, you might as well go and get wasted, in all senses of the word.

* * *

The main town in Vorrutyer’s District was called Paridel, which was a contraction of _Paris de l’Ouest_ , the name bestowed on it by the first settlers. Opinions differed about whether the first settlers were merely being ironic, or whether they were batshit insane. To judge by their descendants, probably both.

It hadn’t changed much since By’s childhood, except to become a bit more decrepit-looking. The streets were lined by an unprepossessing assortment of businesses offering hunting and fishing equipment, short-term cash loans, and cheap liquor. A man who had evidently overindulged in the latter was passed out in one of the alleyways; the more respectable-looking citizens of Paridel ignored him.

“We’re just in time for the city council meeting,” said Donna. “We ought to go to that. I usually try to, whenever I’m in town.”

“Why?”

“Because it helps me keep in touch with local issues. And because it means a lot to the people here.”

 _That’s all very well for you_ , thought By, _but I haven’t the least reason to be interested in the local issues or the people here._

* * *

The agenda for the city council meeting consisted of 1) a statement of the Council’s condolences to Lady Donna on the death of her brother, followed by a moment of silence for the late Count; 2a) a motion to approve the purchase of two new lightflyers for the municipal guards; 2b) an informational report on the state of the rest of the fleet; 3) an extended discussion of whether to revoke the business license of an establishment called _The Three Jolly Maidens_ , in the wake of a stabbing (resolved when the owner voluntarily offered to close down at ten p.m., and to install a metal detector at the door); 4) a motion to approve repaving the playground at one of the local schools; 5) a motion to permit the sale of alcohol in the city park at the Midsummer Festival; 6) a lengthy complaint by a citizen that the municipal guards were harassing him via subliminal messages in the road safety signs; 7) an appeal from the local youth string orchestra for travel funding, as they had been invited to play at the Imperial Concert Hall in Vorbarr Sultana. (This last item included introductions of every member of the orchestra, an impassioned description of how unique this opportunity was and how hard the young people had worked, and a brief sample of the string orchestra’s abilities.) The Council voted to award them two thousand marks from the city’s coffers, which Donna supplemented with a personal gift of five hundred. Byerly realized, belatedly, that something similar seemed to be expected of him; he dug into his pockets and handed the orchestra leader a hundred-mark note and some loose change.

“They were rather good,” he admitted, _sotto voce_ , “but don’t you think it would have been better to play some Bach or something, instead of the theme song from _Vorthalia the Bold_?”

“ _Vorthalia the Bold_ is what people _know_ ,” said Donna, who had been looking increasingly grumpy every time she had to nudge him to keep him from falling asleep. “Anyway, get up, I’d like to introduce you before they adjourn.”

Mercifully, Donna introduced him only as _my cousin Byerly_ , rather than _your future Count_ , which he was now more determined than ever not to be. Nonetheless, it was all too clear that everyone present, with the exception of the youngest children in the string orchestra, was making _assumptions_. What else would he be doing here?

There was scattered applause, and he made a vague statement of thanks, and then the meeting finally ended. Some mischievous impulse made him suggest to Donna that they go and have a drink at the Three Jolly Maidens before it lost all of its character, but Donna said tartly that they couldn’t very well be seen drinking at a dive bar when Pierre had died only that morning, and in any case, if By couldn’t stay awake through a city council meeting he was obviously too tired to go out drinking.

They went to the District house instead, where Donna said all the correct things to the armsmen, who seemed to be genuinely grieving, and introduced By to the ones who didn’t already know him. They had a late supper, consisting of an omelet one of the armsmen had scratched up and an indifferent bottle of wine, and then Donna said, “Get off to bed, we’ve got to start early tomorrow.”

* * *

Donna sipped at her coffee, and considered how much she could hope to show By over the next few days. It was necessary to introduce the District to its heir, and vice versa, and to give the heir a realistic sense of what he would be taking on. It was also, however, necessary to keep the heir from running off in a panic, or deciding that the District and Richars _deserved_ each other. With this delicate balance in mind, Donna made her plans carefully. They weren’t going to be able to go very far into the remoter parts of the District anyway; if By bailed on her and she had to go to Beta after all, they would absolutely _need_ to be back in Vorbarr Sultana in three days. If they got out early the next morning, that would be enough time to show him a few of the improvements she’d made in the rural areas, and to make her pitch for why the work should continue. Good. And the mountains were certainly prettier than Paridel. But, on the other hand, By had a strong aversion to dirt, wet weather, and discomfort. At the very least she’d need to find them a proper place to stay for the night instead of billeting themselves at the Speaker’s house wherever they ended up, as she often did when she was on her own. Ma Declerq’s place would do; a nice, snug, old-fashioned country inn, and Ma Declerq kept an excellent table. (Like most men, By tended to be more generously disposed toward the world when he had been fed well.)

Armsman Joris interrupted her thoughts. “What time were you thinking of leaving, milady?”

Donna glanced at the time and swore. “About fifteen minutes ago. Isn’t By ready yet?”

“Not yet. I tried to wake him, but I don’t think it’s taken. Shall I bring him some coffee?”

“Yes, and if he doesn’t wake up _this_ time, you might try accidentally spilling the coffee on him.”

Joris looked rather shocked at this suggestion – which was, at least, a sign that the armsmen had started to think of By as the heir.

When By finally did turn up, bleary-eyed but impeccably dressed, Donna had to explain to him what _packing light_ meant, and what sort of clothing would be appropriate. “Are those the only boots you’ve got?”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re too nice, that’s what’s wrong with them, and you’re going to get mud all over them and I’m never going to hear the end of it. Here, take Pierre’s.”

“They won’t fit,” said By, looking at the boots with distaste.

“Well, put some extra socks on. Or get some ugly, sturdy boots of your own. You’re going to need them.”

* * *

Donna declined an offer from Joris to accompany them. He wasn’t – technically – an armsman at the moment, and it seemed unfair to drag him along on what might well be a fool’s errand.

She piloted the lightflyer to Les Pins, the farthest village large enough to have a proper landing deck, and took By on a brief tour, pointing out the newly paved roads and the even newer streetlights. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem overly impressed to be in a place where these things were _accomplishments_. They visited the local primary school next, where he at least seemed to be willing to endure the chaos of three dozen six-year-olds in a room built for twenty. Donna explained her improvements – new books, properly-qualified teachers with degrees, English-only education so the children would grow up fluent in a galactic language – as well as everything that she hoped to manage with more money: individual comconsoles, repairs to the building, a science lab and an art studio.

They stayed longer than Donna had planned, because the teachers always had requests for her. The children swarmed about By, curious about their new visitor; Donna, a familiar presence, was not as interesting. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be managing surprisingly well, instinctively kneeling down to their level and switching to French, which was what they spoke among themselves. She began to have hopes – however improbable – of turning him into a real Count and not just a placeholder.

 _That_ lasted about ten minutes after they left the school. “You have _got_ to be kidding,” said By, when he saw their mode of transportation.

“No, I’m not. How else would we get up into the mountains? There aren’t any proper roads from here on out, and there’s nowhere to land a flyer. Anyway, I know perfectly well that you _do_ know how to ride, so you needn’t try to pretend you don’t.” In fact, By had the usual range of country-boy skills, something that would undoubtedly have surprised his city friends very much. If he even _had_ proper friends. Donna was skeptical about this point.

“I’m out of practice.”

“Well, then, it’s time to get back in. These two are lovely, gentle animals. This one’s called Rosie, and the big grey one is Sally.” Donna took a packet of carrots out of her pocket and handed one to By. “You want to make friends, first. They’re not like horses, they do things because they _want_ to.”

Byerly offered the carrot to Sally and watched as the donkey crunched it up.

“Good. Now she’ll want patting. Give her a chance to get to know you.”

While By was befriending Sally, Donna handed him some packed sandwiches from the local grocery. “We’ll find somewhere to picnic along the way. They’ll want to offer you something to eat whenever we stop in the villages, but they haven’t got much to spare this time of year, so it’s best to say you’ve already eaten, but you’ll take some tea. It’ll be herbal tea, so it doesn’t cost them anything. In the summer, when they’ve got more fruit than they can eat, you can take some of that, or at butchering-time you can stay for a full meal. Don’t offer them money, though, whatever you do. They don’t like that, it hurts their pride.”

* * *

It was Donna’s custom to visit as many of the villages as possible when she traveled to the rural areas of the District, talking with the Speakers about local issues, inspecting schools and clinics, hearing complaints to pass along to the Count. The last, of course, was not an option just now; instead, she brought the news of Pierre’s death to villages that were not on the communications network (this was less common than it used to be, now that you could access news from all over the planet with a cheap wristcom, but there were still places with patchy reception or minimal interest in the outside world). She also introduced By to everyone; although she was careful not to introduce him _as heir_ , people were clearly drawing their own conclusions. She did her best to make sure they would accept him. He was obviously _not one of them_ , but any urbanite would have stood out; she rather thought that his clothes and manners were less obviously out-of-place out here than in Paridel. She tried to keep the conversation in English, because By insisted on speaking French with the proper Earth accent (acquired during a two-month sojourn in Paris), which was different enough from the local dialect to be almost unintelligible.

It was slow going. The villages were far apart, and people always wanted them to stay and talk about Pierre. By the time they left the fourth village, it was late afternoon and By was already visibly bored and saddle-sore; Donna decided to call it a day and head for Ma Declerq’s inn.

“Is _this_ how you always spend your time when you’re in the District?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, added, “You poor thing.”

“I’ve grown to like it,” said Donna, doing her best not to bristle. “It’s a place where I can be useful. There’s work here that _means_ something.”

Surprisingly, he seemed to understand this at once. “It’s all going to be for nothing, though, if Richars gets in. Isn’t it?”

“Most of it,” Donna admitted. “I like to think I’ve built some things that won’t go away overnight. The right people in the right positions, that sort of thing. It would take him a while to replace them all. And even if he decides to undo everything I’ve done with the schools, for example, you can’t take education away from children who have already _had_ it.”

“You’ve been telling nearly everyone we’ve met not to worry, things are going to be all right. Is that true?”

“For certain senses of ‘all right,’ I think it is,” said Donna. He didn’t say anything more, but his silence made her flush, suddenly. Long experience of By had taught her that when he asked whether something was _true_ , it was very similar to other high-Vor men asking whether it was _honorable_ , with the same sort of implicit judgment if it was not. She swallowed and looked up, emboldened. “Yes, it is. I’m going to make it true. With or without your help.”

* * *

Ma Declerq had hot running water, and she did her own brewing. Donna ordered a pint of ale for herself and strong cider for By, and waited for him to finish his ablutions. By the time he turned up – looking remarkably refreshed – Ma Declerq had produced dinner as well: home-cured ham, freshly baked rolls, and baby green salad.

“This _is_ rather good,” he admitted. “Much better than lunch, anyway. What _were_ those sandwiches made from?”

“Unflavored vat protein,” said Donna. “That’s about all the local factory was equipped to handle for years, and by now lots of people around here have gotten a taste for it. Vat-protein on white bread with lots of sandwich spread.”

“Somebody,” said By decisively, “needs to save the people around here from themselves.”

Donna found herself taking this remark more seriously than it really deserved. “You can’t go in with that attitude, you know. They’ll smell it a mile off.”

Her rebuke had evidently startled him into seriousness, as well, because he took a large swallow of cider and said, after a moment, “It really ought to be you. Don’t think I can’t see that.”

“You’re doing well enough.”

“Let’s say you do go with Plan Beta. What would you say are the odds that the Council would really let you get away with it?”

“Honestly? Natalia thinks about five to one against. But it’s a chance. And I’m not abandoning the District to Richars without a fight.”

* * *

Byerly woke up at an ungodly early hour – stupid _rooster_ – and dragged himself out of bed, realizing that any breakfast cooked by Ma Declerq would probably be worth getting up for. It was, and she readily agreed to pack them some ham sandwiches for the road. “You’ll be back in time for dinner, I hope? We’ve got a lovely spring lamb.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The day began much like the previous one, with Donna calling on assorted village Speakers, schoolteachers, and medtechs at health clinics. She seemed to know the minutiae of everything they did, and immersed herself in intricate discussions of each village’s particular issues and problems. Byerly drank a great deal of herbal tea, and tried to pay attention.

It was perhaps an hour or so after they stopped for lunch, and they were on their way to yet another village, when he started to feel the effects of having imbibed so much tea, and dismounted to have a piss. He caught the smell of wood-smoke, which seemed odd, since there were no signs of human habitation anywhere around.

Investigating a little, he discovered a small clearing that held the charred remains of a campfire and a sort of shelter built out of sticks and a tarpaulin. It didn’t look overly comfortable, but it was capably built and would probably keep the rain out.

He took a step closer, and just then someone emerged from the bushes. “Oh! I’m sorry, sir, is this your land? I didn’t know it belonged to anybody.”

At first glance, he estimated the girl’s age as about twelve, and then revised his guess two or three years upward, taking in her height and her small but developed breasts. She didn’t appear to have brushed her hair in weeks, and she wore a shapeless dress that looked as if she had sewn it herself. She had gathered up the skirt and was using it as a carrying-basket of sorts, revealing a pair of sturdy, briar-scratched legs.

“Yes, I suppose it _is_ my land, in a manner of speaking. It’s all right, you’re welcome to camp here if you like. You are camping, I take it?” It occurred to him that even in peasant circles, it was surely unusual for a teenaged girl to go camping by herself. “Are you out here all alone?”

“Yes. Please, sir, I didn’t mean any harm by it. I’ll go somewhere else if you like.” Her schoolgirl English was good, with only the slightest trace of a Frenchie accent. She’d obviously pegged him as an outsider at a glance, and registered the difference of caste; she seemed, however, to be blithely unconcerned about being alone with a male stranger with her legs exposed to the thighs.

“No, you can stay, it’s just --” He fumbled for the right words, gave it up, and called out to Donna. The sooner he had a female witness, the better.

Donna came scrambling through the brush, and said, “What is it, By – _Oh_.” Switching into the local bastardization of French, she said to the girl, “It’s all right, dear, we don’t mind, but whatever are you doing out here?”

The girl answered in English. “I didn’t mean to trespass, it’s only that my brother kicked me out, and I thought this place was far enough from anyone …” Suddenly remembering her manners – or perhaps wanting to change the subject – the girl said, “Won’t you stay for a little while? I don’t have any tea, but I found some greens, and there are a couple of eggs apiece…” She removed the eggs from her skirt, and looked at them doubtfully. They were speckled, and about the size of By’s thumbnail. “I _do_ hope they’re new-laid, and not close to hatching.”

“We’ve eaten,” said By quickly.

“I’ve got a bit left over,” said Donna. She took half a sandwich and an apple from her rucksack, and offered them to the girl, who devoured them. Byerly regretted the fact that he’d just fed _his_ last apple to Sally.

“How long have you been out here?” he asked the girl.

“About a week,” she said, “ever since I had to leave home.”

“Living on greens?”

“I snared a rabbit the other day, but I’ve already eaten it and I haven’t been able to get another. And there are snails you can eat, and a few mushrooms.”

“That isn’t much to live on.”

“I can manage.” She had what he’d come to recognize as the usual hill-country attitude, defiant and fiercely independent. “It’ll be berry season soon enough.”

He and Donna looked at each other. _You could starve to death out here before berry season_ , he thought. Aloud, he said, “Why did your brother kick you out?”

“He said I was a whore,” said the girl, “but I’m _not_. All the money, I got by selling my carvings.”

“Carvings?”

The girl thrust a hand into the pocket of her skirt and took out a little wooden rabbit: rough-hewn, but lively. It was sitting on its haunches, head up to sniff the air and ears alert; you could almost see it twitch.

“That’s beautiful,” said By. “May I hold it?”

“You can keep it if you like,” said the girl, “I can always make another one. I make loads of ‘em, ducks and squirrels and pigeons and things. I take ‘em down to Ma Declerq’s inn, and she sells ‘em to city people.”

“That’s where we’re staying,” said Donna, “with Ma Declerq.”

“You’ll tell her it isn’t true, won’t you? I don’t want everyone thinking I’m…”

“Yes,” said By, with an unexpected rush of fellow-feeling, “of course we’ll tell her it isn’t true.”

“You’d better tell her yourself,” said Donna. “Why don’t you come back with us?”

* * *

Their new companion proved to be chatty and trusting, and they heard most of her life-story on the way back to the inn. Her name was Mathilde Sevigny, but folks called her Mattie. She was fifteen years old. Her parents were dead; her father in a mining accident when Mattie was eleven; her mother two years after that, from flu that had turned into pneumonia. ( _A simple hypospray of antivirals could have saved her_ , Donna thought. There was still so much work to be done here, and virtually no chance that By’s father would put up the money to continue it, much less that _Richars_ would allow her to do anything at all.)

Mattie had quit school after that. She hadn’t liked school much anyway – the other girls used to tease her – and she had two younger brothers and a little sister to look after, with her older brother working at the mine. She didn’t mind being kicked out of the house so much on her own account, but she was worried about the little ones. Her sister didn’t remember their ma very well; Mattie was all she had.

When they got back to the inn, Donna offered Mattie the spare bed in her room and left her there to take a bath, which she badly needed. Feeling rather sticky and grimy herself, she ran a brush through her hair and went out to join By for a drink in the inn’s front room.

“Rather an … unusual young lady, our guest,” he remarked. “Whatever are you planning to do with her?”

“Give her a proper meal, for a start. And then see about getting her some schooling. She seems bright enough to catch up on what she’s missed, and I think I can talk the headmistress of the Young Ladies’ Academy in Paridel into taking her. I’m on the Board of Directors.”

“You’re going to send her to the Young Ladies’ Academy? With all the officers’ daughters and provincial Vor? Donna, they’d eat her alive.”

“Well, what do you suggest? It’s got to be a boarding school, because she doesn’t have a place to live, and the options around here are … limited.”

“She’d hate it. You know she would. I’d bet you good money she’ll run away in a week.”

“She needs an education. I want her to be able to earn her own living.”

“It seems to me,” said By, taking the little rabbit from his pocket, “that she’s already found a way of doing that.”

“She can’t be bringing in much. Most of the woodcarvers around here charge five or ten marks for a piece like that.”

“It would fetch more in Vorbarr Sultana. Much more, if I don’t miss my guess. I’ve got friends who own a gallery, and I’d like to show this to them.”

“Be my guest, but are you seriously planning to take Mattie to Vorbarr Sultana?”

“No, I’m taking the _rabbit_ to Vorbarr Sultana. _She_ belongs here. Well, not here at Ma Declerq’s -- I mean she belongs in the place she came from. You heard the way she talks about her little sister. It would be cruel to separate them.”

“It seems to me,” said Donna, “that village notions of morality have done that already. Better if she learns there’s a wider world out there, and places where whatever she’s done won’t matter.”

“Is that the only advice you’ve got? Just keep walking away, and let the people who’ve slandered her congratulate themselves on doing the right and proper thing?”

 _He’s taking this personally_ , Donna realized. Perhaps not surprising, in some ways, but … ironic, coming from someone who _had_ walked away, and kept on walking. “What makes you think it _is_ slander? Suppose it’s true?”

“Have you _looked_ at her? Her clothes, and her hair?”

Sometimes By could be infuriatingly catty and shallow. “She’s been living in the _woods_ for the last week. I don’t think even _you_ would think much about your clothes or your hair under the circumstances!”

“Well, she hasn’t depilated her legs in at least a month. Probably never.”

Donna snorted. “Well, excuse her for not meeting your standards, but I think the village boys might be less particular! I don’t see any reason why she can’t have a boyfriend – or why she _shouldn’t_ have one, if she wants.”

Byerly shook his head. “No. Donna, you weren’t listening to what she _said_. Her brother wasn’t calling her a whore the way someone might call you or me a whore. Her answer to it was _all the money, I got by selling my carvings_. It was a very specific accusation of prostitution, and she understood that was what it was. And even in villages – maybe especially in villages – they’ve got a definite idea of what a prostitute is supposed to _look_ like, and any girl intending to set up in that trade would make some effort to look the part. Mattie hasn’t.”

“Huh,” said Donna, anger suddenly gone. Apparently, By had been paying more attention than _she_ had, which was a bit of a blow to her pride when she’d practically made a career of attending to the District people. But, she reminded herself, she’d been doing it for five years; one got used to hearing the same stories, mentally filled in gaps from one’s prior experience. It would be useful to have someone who listened with fresh ears. The most she’d been hoping for, before, was that By would accept his new position and leave the management of the District to her; it crossed her mind now that they might work very well as a team.

Mattie emerged, freshly bathed and cheerfully unconscious that her wet hair was dripping all over the dress Donna had lent her. Donna excused herself to have a bath of her own.

She returned to find that dinner had been served. Mattie was working her way through a considerable quantity of roast lamb, no doubt her first proper meal in a week, and chatting with By as if they were old friends. He’d switched into the District dialect of French, and he seemed to have taken an unexpected interest not only in Mattie’s life, but the life of the village where she came from. Donna thought, at first, that this was a good development but an inexplicable one. Then – after a great deal of general chitchat about the inhabitants of the village and their relationships – his questions took a sudden turn toward the specific. _How long has Therese been betrothed to your brother? How old is she? She must have been at school with you, was she one of those girls who used to tease you? When did she start acting nicer? Has Therese got any friends or relatives who spend time with your brother? Cousins? How often does he go fishing with them? When was the last time?_

Mattie, with the self-absorption of all teenagers everywhere, didn’t seem to notice anything odd about this line of questioning, and answered everything with unsuspicious candor. Donna began to understand where it was all tending. _Well. I didn’t expect that this would be what sparked his interest, but it will do._ She resolved to stand back and see how By handled it.

“Have we time to visit Mattie’s village in the morning?” he asked, after Mattie had taken herself off to bed.

Donna hesitated. If she was going to Beta, she really needed to be at the Vorbarr Sultana shuttleport by midafternoon – and Vorbarr Sultana was a two-hour flight away, _after_ they managed to get off the mountain. A detour to visit a remote village wasn’t really in the cards. But then, if By decided to step up and be a proper Count, she wouldn’t _need_ to go to Beta.

She gambled. “Yes, we do.”

* * *

Donna introduced By to the village Speaker and his wife, who asked them in for the inevitable cup of herbal tea and a leisurely conversation about the Sevigny family. Yes, they had always been very respectable people. It was really too bad that the daughter had decided to disgrace herself. She had always seemed like such a nice girl. What _would_ her parents think if they were living?

They’d left Mattie at the outskirts of the village, looking after the donkeys. The Speaker’s wife had, of course, no idea that By knew her at all; in any case, she would hardly have been likely to pick up on the anger underneath his measured responses. ImpSec taught you to be good at concealing that sort of thing.

“The oldest son is a miner, I understand? Would it be possible for someone to go to the mine and fetch him?”

“Yes, of course.” The Speaker didn’t even ask _why_ he wanted to see young Sevigny; the fact that he was a Vorrutyer was evidently sufficient warrant for anything he took it into his head to do. Which was pretty damned worrisome, if you knew anything about Vorrutyers. “I’ll send his brother.”

“How about his fiancée, Therese? Will she be around?”

“I expect she’ll be looking after the Sevigny children. There’s no school today because of Count Pierre’s death.”

“Would the schoolmistress – or schoolmaster – be free to come along to the Sevigny house after the son gets back? As well as yourselves, of course, and perhaps one or two other witnesses – anyone who’s got a reputation in the village for trustworthiness.”

“Yes, very well.”

“I understand Therese has a couple of boy cousins who are friends with young Sevigny. Would it be possible for me to talk to one of them in the meantime, in private?”

“They’ve gone to Les Pins,” said the Speaker, “taking some livestock to sell at the fair. Likely, with all the drinking that goes on after the fair, they won’t be back till next week.”

 _It’ll be one of those bluff-and-manipulate jobs, then_ , thought By. _Those are always rather fun._

* * *

The Sevigny home wasn’t large, but it looked clean and respectable, if cluttered. In the large front room, a little girl of about five and a slightly older boy looked up at the visitors with wide-eyed curiosity. There was a small stack of colorful picture books in French and English, the same books By had seen in a dozen other houses by now; sending a book every quarter to all of the District children was one of Donna’s initiatives. Most of the playthings scattered across the floor were the sort of homemade toys that he’d also seen in other houses: a clumsily sewn rag doll, a set of wooden building blocks. Some farm animals caught his eye: goats, a donkey, a rooster and a flock of hens, all carved in the same style as the rabbit Mattie had given him, and every one as lively and full of character. He picked up one of the hens, noting the finely textured feathers.

“That one’s Sisi,” said the little girl, launching into a rather difficult-to-follow account of the different animals, their personalities, and their adventures.

The child seemed determined to monopolize him, despite his attempts to hand her off to Donna, so he had little opportunity to observe Therese, the person who really interested him. She was only a couple of years older than Mattie, he knew, but the contrast between the two girls could not have been greater. Therese affected an air of worldly sophistication. She wore cosmetics and store-bought clothes – cheap enough, as far as the material was concerned, but selected with some attention to Paridel fashion, which was like Vorbarr Sultana fashion from two years ago.

After half an hour or so, a number of people crowded into the room: Mattie’s older brother Martin, a middle brother of about eleven, the Speaker and his wife, the village schoolmistress, and a man who seemed to be the local shopkeeper.

On impulse, he decided to try out an entirely new character, a kindly, not-overly-bright innocent who had stumbled upon a village intrigue he scarcely understood. “I’m rather new around here, and perhaps I’m going to put my foot in it – but I did want to talk to you about your fiancé’s sister. Not this little one, his sister Mathilde.”

“Minette,” said Therese to the little girl, “run outside and play.”

By turned toward Therese, blinking as if slightly confused. “Oh no, she can stay. Delightful child. That is – unless you have something to say about Mathilde that you don’t wish to say in front of her sister?” 

“She isn’t fit to talk about in front of a child,” said Therese, “she’s been _selling herself_.”

“Surely not!” said By, looking earnestly aghast at the wickedness of the world. “There must be some mistake.” He kicked Donna sharply in the ankle, as she seemed on the verge of having a fit of the giggles.

Therese looked at him as if he were an idiot, which was fair enough, since he’d been doing his best to convince her he was one. “It’s all over the village. Everyone knows.”

“When did you first hear, do you remember?”

“When Martin told me why he kicked her out.” There was a very slight pause before the reply, as Therese’s eyes darted about the room. _Trying to remember whether anyone here would know anything that would prove she’s lying_ , he suspected.

“Nothing before that?”

Therese shook her head. “No! I wouldn’t have had anything to do with her if I’d known.”

“Oh! I must have got the wrong end of things, then, because for some reason I thought … by the way, Therese, what’s your last name?”

“Garnier,” said Therese. “Why?”

“Nothing important, just a funny coincidence. I think I met one of your cousins the other day in Les Pins. We had rather a long talk.”

Therese was visibly taken aback, even though he’d said nothing about the substance of his supposed conversation with the cousin. “Which one?”

“I didn’t catch his name, I’m afraid. Always been shockingly bad at names.”

“What did he say?”

“He seemed to be under the impression that he’d heard about Mattie’s, er, transgression from _you_.”

Martin burst out, “They told me they’d both had her! Under the bridge on the road to Ma Declerq’s, for twenty marks each!”

Byerly turned to Therese, all eyelash-fluttering bewilderment. “Did you, perhaps, suggest to your cousins that Mattie might be, ah, amenable to exchanging her services for money? Because I’m bound to say that I don’t _quite_ understand the sequence of events, as it’s been described to me.”

“Of course I didn’t!” said Therese. “Do I look like a, a…”

“I believe ‘madam’ is the term you’re looking for. Or perhaps ‘procuress’. There are, of course, some less polite synonyms.”

“I _told_ you I would never have anything to do with a girl like that.”

“So,” said By, now less mystified and considerably less kindly, “what exactly did you tell your cousins, and when? And _why?_ ”

Therese drew in her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees, seeming to become visibly smaller. “What did they tell _you?_ ”

“Let’s hear your version first.”

It was a command, and Therese was young enough to be used to obeying commands, but she clearly didn’t _want_ to. She shrank a bit further.

“It happened like this, sir. I heard a rumor about Mattie from – from someone, I forget who, and I thought Martin ought to be _warned_ about what she was up to, only I didn’t think he would believe it if he heard it from me, because … because he knew we didn’t always get along. So I thought it would be better if I told my cousins to say they’d – you know – _done_ things with her, so he would definitely believe it. He’s friends with them, you see.”

“And did you, in fact, _believe_ this rumor when you heard it from … someone, or did you simply _want_ to believe it? And why, exactly, was it so urgent that Martin should be warned about the activities of his sister?”

He was doing a fair impression of Illyan at his steeliest, so it was no surprise that Therese cracked and admitted, through tears, that she’d been looking for a way to get Mattie out of the house before her marriage. As far as he could make out, Therese’s sole motive was that she found her prospective sister-in-law embarrassingly gawky.

Martin cracked, too, and said “You little _bitch_ , I’m going out to look for my sister, and you had best not be in this house when I get back.”

Donna got to her feet and followed Martin out, presumably to direct him to Mattie, although By devoutly hoped she’d give him a proper tongue-lashing first on the subject of _not throwing one’s flesh and blood out of the house on the basis of rumors._

* * *

As they rode away from the village, Donna still felt utterly nonplussed by what she’d just witnessed. It seemed to have involved By deciding to behave like a proper Count’s heir – which was exactly what she’d wanted – _wasn’t_ it?

“You didn’t like how that went. Out with it.”

“It’s just – I feel like you just brought a nerve disruptor to a stunner fight.” That wasn’t quite the right metaphor – it wasn’t as if anyone were actually paralyzed or dead – but Donna wasn’t sure how to articulate what had really bothered her the most. It was the way he’d suddenly seemed to become someone _else_ when he was talking to Therese, with the skill of a professional actor. It was unnerving, especially in someone who had never been a professional _anything._

“Perhaps I did. Is that so bad? It got the job done.”

“Yes, in ways that can’t be undone! Look, Therese is _seventeen years old_. She’s as much a child as Mattie is. Was it necessary to humiliate her in front of all of them?”

By’s jaw tightened. “Yes. I believe it was. She lied about Mattie to all of them – or at any rate, they’d all _heard_ the lies she spread about Mattie. There would always have been rumors and suspicion unless Therese took it back in public. And you can’t go _on_ in a little village like that if you have a reputation – not easily, anyway. You know that as well as I do.”

“What about Therese?” Donna asked. “How is _she_ supposed to go on? I doubt very much Martin Sevigny is still interested in marrying her –”

“I should _hope_ not. Else he’s even more of a fool than I thought.”

“And broken engagements still _mean_ something in these little villages. Under the circumstances, Therese is every bit as much ruined as Mattie would have been. And I know what you’ll say, it’s only fair since she tried to do the same thing to Mattie – but the fact is, she’s one of the District people _too_ , and the way I see it, our family has a responsibility to do our best for the District people. All of them, without prejudice.”

“Well,” said By, “if you’re determined to send _someone_ to the Young Ladies’ Academy, I believe Therese might fit right in.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” said Donna, “although you needn’t be quite so snarky about it. I don’t think it would hurt to broaden Therese’s horizons as well – yes, they _do_ broaden horizons at the Young Ladies’ Academy these days, I’ve pushed for quite a few changes to the curriculum since I’ve been on the board, so you don’t have to roll your eyes like that.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.” And, as easily as that, they were bickering like favorite cousins again, and Donna made up her mind to let it drop. It was going to be By’s district, not _her_ district, and she would need to remember that. And … well, Minette Sevigny had run straight to her sister and clung so tightly to her legs that Mattie hadn’t been able to turn around to say goodbye, and if Donna had had her way, Mattie would have been at boarding school in Paridel by now.

She glanced at the time, and remembered that it was three hours later in Vorbarr Sultana; not enough time left to make the shuttle to Beta. There was no going back, now; no choice but to hope By really was committed.

* * *

When they got back to Paridel, they found the armsmen standing just outside the perimeter of the Vorrutyer House grounds, with Donna’s belongings packed up in boxes and Max gnawing on a chew toy at Joris’s feet.

“What’s going on?” Byerly asked.

“It’s your cousin, sir. Richars … er, Lord Richars – he _says_ he ought to be addressed as Lord Vorrutyer, but I don’t think that can be right – well, anyway, he’s just arrived.”

“Arrived here? Why didn’t you kick him out?” demanded Donna.

Joris looked sheepish. “We, ah, weren’t sure what we were within our rights to do – not being in any Count’s service at the moment, technically speaking. He brought a lawyer, and he left this for you.” He handed a sealed letter to Donna.

Donna perused the letter and looked up, eyes flashing. “Our dearly beloved cousin demands that I vacate the District house at once and hand over the keys to Pierre’s other properties. He claims that Pierre’s will is invalid, and he’s filed a motion of impediment in the Council of Counts to keep you from being confirmed as the heir. The reason he’s giving is insanity.”

Byerly shrugged. “That shouldn’t be too hard to disprove. I’m willing to undergo a psychological evaluation if it helps things along. Though, to make everything fair and above-board, I think _Richars_ ought to have one as well. Might make for some interesting reading, don’t you think?”

“ _You’re_ not supposed to be the insane one. He’s alleging that _Pierre_ was.”

“Oh – damn. That makes things … more complicated.”

“Indeed,” said Donna, who had never before been willing to admit that her brother was anything other than _a bit eccentric_. The armsmen looked uncomfortably at one another, suggesting that they also harbored private doubts about Count Pierre’s ability to make a valid will. Which was … rather unfortunate, from a legal point of view, if any of them had been witnesses.

“Well,” said By, taking refuge in practicalities, “I think you’d better give me the keys to the town house and tell Richars you don’t have them any more. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and all that. I’m going to call a friend in the municipal guards, just in case he gets stroppy. What time’s the next flight to Vorbarr Sultana?”

“Another hour,” said Donna. “Joris can drive you. Does this mean…”

“It means I’m damned if I’m letting Richars win, that’s all. No promises about anything else.”

“Fair enough,” said Donna, not quite hiding a smile as she handed him the keys. So it went. Donna knew that he was in the habit of promising rather less than he delivered.

As he was putting the keys in his pocket, he felt an unfamiliar lump of wood, and drew it out. “Look,” he said after a moment of inspection, “it’s Sally. Mattie must have done it when we left her outside.” He forgot about everything else for a moment, in sheer delight at the carver’s skill. “Her ears are wonderfully _expressive_ , aren’t they?”


End file.
